


Just Like Jack

by LadyKes



Series: Crossovers [1]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Crossover, Gen, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:54:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29209941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKes/pseuds/LadyKes
Summary: "An American lieutenant desperately in need of a shave stood in front of her door with his men fanned out behind him."Phryne's perspective of the events in Beyond.
Series: Crossovers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2148072
Comments: 9
Kudos: 24





	Just Like Jack

**Author's Note:**

> First the plot bunnies provided Daniel's POV, and now they've provided Phryne's.

War was hell. Phryne had learned that the first time around, and nothing this time around had changed her opinion. In fact, she’d had that opinion confirmed, even though she was doing completely different things in this war than she was in the last. Well, mostly. There had been a few unorthodox tasks last time, especially for someone who was only supposed to be driving ambulances and sponging brows. That experience, though, was precisely why she was living in a rundown farmhouse in the French countryside.

Madame Pecqueur was a war widow, just trying to survive on the last of this year’s crops and whatever she could buy on the black market. Phryne, of course, had had a few extra food drops, but she made sure not to eat as much as she was given. Everyone was thin by now, and if they weren’t, they were collaborating. 

Her task here had been to receive and then arrange the placement of mines on the lanes nearby before a possible German advance. That task was almost done, and she expected to receive her next assignment at any time. She wasn’t sure where she’d be next month or even next week, since she was almost certain there was a traitor in her resistance cell. There had been too many close calls, especially recently. 

Her pianist had left a message for her that she would be receiving a visit from an American reconnaissance squadron to confirm the arrangements, but she didn’t know exactly when. When someone knocked on the door mid-morning, she dried her hands from the morning dishes, put her revolver in the pocket of her apron, and then went to the door. Maybe it was her American visitors and maybe it was the Gestapo. 

An American lieutenant desperately in need of a shave stood in front of her door with his men fanned out behind him. She could see that he’d arranged his men to see every angle of her farmhouse and the barn behind it and she approved. She also approved that all of them were obviously ready to use their weapons, but not jumpy about it. Whoever this man was, he seemed to know his work and his men.

“Do you have any black chickens to sell?” he asked her, and she did manage not to wince at his terrible French. She also pretended not to notice the brief pause and glance at her before he spoke. She firmly believed that a coat of red lipstick did wonders and that being in a war zone was no reason not to look as presentable as possible, even when she hadn’t had a haircut in far too long. 

“No, only speckled hens,” she replied. His face didn’t change, but his eyes did, and she was suddenly reminded of Jack. It was all in the eyes for Jack, and apparently it was all in the eyes for this weary man. 

He nodded and then must have signaled to his men somehow, because they all moved to different positions around the clearing. She approved of that too, and opened the door to allow him to enter her farmhouse. It wasn’t impossible that an American could be a collaborator, but it was unlikely, and she didn’t think this one was. She thought he was just a tired, hungry, unshaven soldier. 

“The eggs are ready for the harvest,” she told him while she watched his men move and then settle into place, and his eyes changed again. Perhaps the Americans had been having the same problems they’d been having with changed plans and dangerous leaks, because he seemed relieved. 

“When’ll they be harvested?” he asked in English, and she smiled. She’d heard more than a few American accents recently, and she’d always been amused by how different they were, just like British accents. This one, she thought, was from the American Northeast. It certainly wasn’t from the American South. 

“Tonight,” she replied. Her accent had been described as “posh” during her training for SOE, and it must have startled him enough that he actually blinked. But asking her where she was from was against the rules, and she didn’t expect him to break them. 

“You got any extra food, ma’am?” he asked instead, and she thought it probably cost him a bit of his pride to ask. “Me and my men, we’re getting low on our rations. I know everyone’s got trouble, but if you got any spare food, I’ll pay you for it.”

One of the many reasons she hadn’t eaten all her food drops was standing in front of her. The Americans weren’t perfect, but she appreciated their alliance. She needed them to continue that alliance for herself and for Mac, Jane, Dot, Bert, Cec, and Hugh, along with the millions of other soldiers and their families. 

“Nonsense,” she told him, just as she would have told Mac, Dot, or Jack if they’d tried to suggest something so ridiculous. “You won’t pay me anything, Lieutenant, nor will any of your men. And you’ll rest here tonight, all of you.”

“No, ma’am, you know that’s not safe for any of us,” he objected, and somehow pulled himself up a little taller, just like Jack would have. “I can’t put you into that kind of danger.”

She rolled her eyes a little, though she didn’t think the lieutenant would see it. That was just like Jack too, and she wondered what possessed men to think that a woman couldn’t decide for herself what kind of danger she should be in, especially in the middle of a war zone when she clearly wasn’t French. 

“I choose what danger I shall and shall not be put into,” she told him firmly. “And you will be far more dangerous to me -- and to us all, frankly -- if you don’t sleep than if you do.”

She knew she was right, and he knew she was right. He half-smiled and even half-chuckled, and she could see for a moment that under the dirt and the exhaustion and the awful beard was a very handsome man with very expressive eyes. 

“Yes ma’am,” he agreed, which proved he was also an intelligent man. “You got a barn?”

“Indeed, with plenty of hay. There is a cat, though. Looks very disapproving at all times,” she warned him. The cat had come with the property and she’d made sure to supplement its food in case the mice weren’t enough. She didn’t want him straying too far and becoming someone’s dinner. 

“Don’t all cats?” the lieutenant joked wearily, and she smiled at him. He’d maintained his sense of humor, even in all this, and she thought perhaps this man would make it through the war with his soul -- however that was defined -- intact. She hoped his body would be as well, but that was less certain. 

“This one has a particular talent for it. Don’t take it personally. I never have,” she replied with the Gallic shrug she’d picked up again in her first week.

She paused. She didn’t normally tell anyone the cat’s name, but no one so far had reminded her so strongly of the cat’s namesake. 

“Its name is Jacques, if you happen to see it.”

“Thank you ma’am,” he replied, and then smiled again and left the kitchen. She watched him talk to his men for a moment before she went to get the hidden cache of food. They’d rest here tonight, she’d feed them, and tomorrow, this soldier and his men would go off and do the best that they could for the people they were fighting for. 

Just like Jack.


End file.
